


Vir’lath’assan

by KitLlwynog



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dalish Elves, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pre-Inquisition, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: Dhavunlean Sabrae has been wandering since the destruction of their clan, looking for a new home and purpose. On their way through the northern Dales, they stumble on the campsite of an unconscious elf, and out of a mix of concern and loneliness they keep watch over him until he wakes. But when he finally comes back to himself, he claims to have been killed by Fen’harel, before lapsing into the blank stare of Tranquility. With no better prospects, and unwilling to leave Felassan alone, they decide to try and help him find a way to reverse his condition. They have no way of knowing that this will be the decision that not only changes their fate, but possibly the fate of all of Thedas.





	1. The Cold Fire

Dhavunlean followed the game trail, quick and quiet, avoiding the piles of dead leaves that would spoil their silent passage. It had been three weeks since they had last seen another soul, but they would soon be in the territory of Clan Virnehn. Rumor held that they had a full contingent of mages, but perhaps they would find a use for a hunter with a proven record of feeding themselves. Almost six months had passed since the destruction of Clan Sabrae, and Dhavunlean had wandered ever since, going from town to town, chasing rumor of other clans who might perhaps take them in.

Now that winter was coming on, they were beginning to feel desperate. But a familiar smell drifted on the air, the smoky scent of a campfire nearby, and their heart soared with joy and relief. No shems would be caught out in weather like this, they were sure. Still, they would be cautious. Their steps slowed as the scent grew stronger, but they heard none of the sounds they expected. No halla, no laughing children. And truth be told, this wasn't exactly a prime place for a large camp. Perhaps it was a group of hunters stalking game or checking traplines. The trail markers on the trees were not quite fresh. Dhavunlean drew their bow, just in case. 

The trail came to an abrupt end at a massive blackberry bush, and Dhavunlean crouched, peering through the thicket of branches and leaves. The fire had cooled to embers, but this close, they could smell the lingering aroma of smoked meat and unusual herbs. There was nothing marking the camp but the small fire and a bedroll, still tied up tight in a manner that was almost familiar. It had to be another elf camped here, but they didn't see anyone until they crept around the bush. 

The form of one of the People, slender and unusually tall at first glance, lay sprawled on the ground, in a position too unnatural for sleep. Dhavunlean rushed forward, caution forgotten for the moment. The elf in question was male, marked with Mythal's vallaslin in delicate and exquisite detail against sun-bronzed skin. His chest rose with a shallow breath. He was alive, but something was clearly amiss.

Dhavunlean felt a sharp burst of relief, tinged with fear. Clans did not typically send hunters out alone, they had at least their partner, and usually they went in groups, for safety. He looked to be at least in the middle of his third decade, much too old for this to be his trial. But there was a staff propped next to the bedroll. Perhaps this was some sort of secret ritual known only to Keepers? They hesitated a moment before making their decision. 

“Lethallin, are you all right?” they asked, their voice cracking with disuse. There was no response. Dhavunlean patted his cheek and found it ice cold. At this rate, he would die of hypothermia. They pushed him onto his back, quickly and gently assessing for injuries, though worried the whole time he would wake and accuse them of banditry. But he never stirred, though there appeared to be nothing wrong with him, physically. Perhaps he'd been poisoned? 

There were some teas that might help with that. They unrolled his bedroll and draped the furs over him, supplementing with their own, and then built up the fire. Normally, the silence wouldn't bother them, but the fact that they were caring for an unconscious stranger made it odd. It felt like trespassing. Dhavunlean talked to him as if he could hear, explaining what they intended to do as they filled the pot by the campfire with water and hung it over the flames. “You don't seem to have a fever, so I suppose willow bark will be useless, but I think elfroot and arbor blessing might help. If I knew anything of magic, I suppose I'd know more. I hope your clan is nearby.”

There was no change. Not that night when they laid against his back for warmth, nor the next morning, except that he was no longer cold, but sweating profusely. Dhavunlean dripped willowbark tea into his mouth and wiped his face and neck with a rag dipped in icy water. That evening he started to toss his head and moan. They didn't know whether that was better or worse. One more day, they told themselves; then they would have to move on. But to what? If his clan lay just over the next rise, how could Dhavunlean go to them alone, knowing he was out here at the mercy of the wild? Perhaps they could fashion a litter.

That night, just before dawn, he woke with a start, clutching the front of their leathers for dear life. “He's killed me! Now he’ll destroy everything!” It took Dhavunlean a moment or two to process his panicked words.

“Who? You aren't dead, you're right here. I'm sorry if I've startled you,” they replied blearily, patting his shoulder in what they hoped was a consoling way.

“This isn't the Beyond?” he said, looking around with his eyes blinking owlishly.

“No. This is your camp. I found you here, unconscious, two days ago. Do you know what happened to you?”

“He killed me,” he repeated, in an almost disinterested tone, his hands releasing their clothes and falling to his sides. In the firelight, they could see that his expression had gone weirdly vacant.

“Are you all right? What's your name?” He turned his head toward the sound of their voice. His eyes were a vivid violet color, and now, completely empty.

“Felassan is my name. I am glad not to be dead. Thank you.” Dhavunlean shivered when they heard the hollow tone in his voice. Only once before had they met a mage who'd been severed in such a way. Tranquil, the shemlem called them, though it seemed anything but. Felassan was an elvhen name, to be sure, though one not usually given to children. The slow arrow was part of Dalish mythology, but it was a tale of Fen’harel, a warning, not an aspiration.

“Why are you out here alone, Felassan? Are you part of Clan Virnehn?”

“No. I have no clan. Virnehn is no more, taken by a demon,” he said.

“Is that what happened to you? Can a demon make you…. Like this?” they said, gesturing somewhat awkwardly in his direction. They hoped he wasn't sensitive about his condition… though on second thought they didn't think someone in his state could be offended. 

“No. I was killed in the Beyond, and so I am severed from myself,” he said easily.

Dhavunlean’s eyes narrowed. “Killed by who? Or what?”

“The Dread Wolf took my life because I betrayed his orders. I suppose he thought I would freeze to death out here alone. But as I am now, he will not trouble me further, for I pose no threat to his plans.” Dhavunlean shook their head. That was all quite insane sounding. Perhaps he'd suffered an illness after all. If that was the case, there was some hope of recovery. But they had never heard of a sickness that would do this. They shook their head to bring themselves back to the present.

“All right, well, the first order of business is food, now that we're awake. I have some lentils in my pack. Can you make some porridge if I go try to find us some meat?”

He nodded. “All of my memories and skills remain intact, except for magic.”

So he was a mage… or he had been one, before. Dhavunlean got to their feet and picked up their bow. “I won't go far. Call out if you need me.”

“I will,” he said before turning away and rummaging through their pack. They hoped he was right about his memory. It would be no good if he forgot them the moment he turned away. But worrying about it wouldn't accomplish anything. They sighed out a breath and stepped into the woods to look for signs of game. 

They didn't have much luck hunting. This time of year, the animals were in hiding, not yet desperate enough for food to show themselves during the day, but Dhavunlean did manage to find some nuts and berries to put in the porridge and some wrinkled apples for later. They had set some snares as well; whatever they decided, they sensed there would be no moving today. Felassan needed time to recover, and there were decisions to be made.

When Dhavunlean returned to camp, he was sitting at the fire, stirring the porridge with a vacant expression. They chewed their lip. There had to be some way they could help him, even if the Clan wasn't around. If Virnehn had truly been destroyed, they would have to change their plans anyway. They needed supplies and had been hoping to trade furs and leather for things that couldn't be found in the wild. “Thanks for making the porridge,” they said, trying to keep their tone cheerful. “Do you have any idea what we should do next? I had planned on trading with Clan Virnehn, but it seems that won't be possible.”

Felassan blinked slowly. “You intend to continue to travel with me?”

Dhavunlean scratched their ear, feeling awkward. “If you don’t want me to, I suppose I can be on my way. I feel bad leaving you out here alone, though.”

“I am… grateful for your assistance,” he said, face scrunched as if he was having trouble finding the words. “I did not expect such help from a stranger. But I have no place to go now, no people and no purpose. There are villages nearby, to the north and east. I suppose any of them would do, if they would take me in. If nothing else, the Circle would have me.” 

Dhavunlean’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Yes, the Circle would take a Tranquil, for their enchanting skills if nothing else, but a life locked away in a tower was hardly a life for one of the People. “There has to be a better solution. Let's just eat, and I'll warm some water to clean ourselves with. Maybe tonight I can think of a plan. Tomorrow, we’ll have to move on.”

So they ate, and Dhavunlean went to fetch water. If it were a bit warmer, it would have been nice to get an actual bath in the stream; both their hair and clothes could use a wash. But the water was nearly frozen. It would be too much of a risk. When both the pots were full they carried them back to the fire to warm up a bit, and got out a couple of rags. Felassan watched them work, expressionless.

“You can wash first,” Dhavunlean said, pacing to the edge of the clearing and turning their back. Nudity wasn't normally a big deal among the Dalish, but Felassan was a stranger. He wasn't exactly in any shape to object, so they would do it for him. Behind them, they could hear this sounds of discarded clothes and sloshing water, so at least he'd understood their intention. 

“Ouch,” he said a few moments later. His tone wasn't urgent, but Dhavunlean wasn't even sure he felt pain in the same way. They turned around in alarm. 

“Are you all right?” He was standing by the fire, stark naked, holding his foot and peering at it, but he looked up at the sound of their voice.

“I stepped on a stick. I am uninjured,” he replied. Dhavunlean didn't answer. All of their attention was taken up by the fact that he was simply the most beautiful man they had ever seen. His raven dark hair was pulled into a long braid, currently swept over his shoulder. Lean muscles and tanned skin told of an active life outdoors, and there were a few scars, silvery-white against the brown, but they seemed to add to the whole, rather than detract. His vallaslin continued down his neck, curling over his collarbone and shoulders all the way to his wrists, coming from behind his back to trail over his hipbones and down his thighs... “Do you find my form pleasing, lethallan?” he asked, only not in the way any other man might have asked, with a hint of smugness. He was curious, perhaps, but lacked even the passion for that.

Dhavunlean jerked their head up, cheeks on fire. “I'm sorry,” they said, turning back around as quick as they could, ashamed for having been so rude. Perhaps it was a symptom of having been alone so long. “And it's lethallen, by the way.” It felt wrong to correct him after they had just been caught ogling, but it seemed like it was better to get out of the way early.

“I apologize. I assumed you were female.” They could hear him rifling through his pack now, perhaps looking for clean clothes.

“I was born that way, I guess you could say, but that isn't who I am now,” they replied, chewing their lip. Most people didn't understand their feelings regarding their gender. Sometimes they weren't even sure they did. Conversations about it were always uncomfortable. 

“In the days of Arlathan, many of the People did not take a body as you and I have, and their concept of gender was complex,” he said, like he was reading from a very boring book.

“Really? I've never heard that. Where did you learn it?” they said. Could it be true? Were Tranquil even capable of deceit?

“It would take quite a while to explain, and I am not certain you would believe me. Let us just say that I am not as young as I look.” Dhavunlean’s eyebrows flicked upward. Considering what they’d just seen of Felassan, they doubted he could be all that old. “It does not bother me, you looking,” he added, as if he could read their train of thought.

Dhavunlean almost groaned out loud. They had hoped that the incident was behind them. “Does anything bother you at this point though?”

There was a moment of silence, as if he was considering. “I think it would bother me to be hurt or killed, yes. By consulting my memory, I know that I would have once enjoyed such appreciation. Now, I feel nothing.” 

****************

After washing themselves, Dhavunlean inspected their equipment and did a few repairs while Felassan combined and organized their stores. “We will soon require green vegetables, if we are not to become ill, and meat will provide more energy than roots and grains alone.”

“Vegetables we’ll have to trade for,” they replied. “But if you're comfortable staying here by yourself, I can range a little farther for game.”

“I am not defenseless, even without magic,” he said. “All will be well.” With that reassurance, Dhavunlean went back into the forest. The snares they had set earlier in the day were still empty and they didn't want to scare the animals from the area. So they traveled deeper, marking trees as they went. It wouldn't do any good to get lost. They moved through the trees with silent deliberation, stopping every few minutes to check the ground for traces. Finally they found what they'd been searching for, faint hoof prints. Adhal’ishaor, what the shemlem called august rams. They were plentiful in the Dales in the sumner, but Dhavunlean had worried the herds had already moved north. These tracks were fresh. Dhavunlean sank into a crouch, following the rams’ trail, ears pricked for every sound.

They followed the trail along the stream and upward, toward the top of a waterfall, and then, the tracks seemed to vanish. Dhavunlean paused, scratching their head. Animals didn't just disappear with no trace, and adhal’ishaoran weren't exactly known for cunning. They started back to the river, wondering if the herd had leaped across, and then they spotted it. A small pathway cut into the cliff, barely wide enough for one person to go through, but with the telltale marks of the passage of many hooves. Dhavunlean lifted their bow over their head and squeezed through the gap. 

They came into a guarded little clearing, almost a cave, really, but open to the sky high above so that sunlight spilled onto willow trees that shaded the pool in the back of the cavern. The rams, clearly not expecting to preyed upon here, were resting peacefully or grazing on the willow fronds. It felt almost evil to disturb them, but Felassan was right. Meat would keep them on their feet longer than lentils, and if they ate roast tonight and tomorrow and smoked the rest in the embers of the campfire, they'd have plenty to travel with as well as more leather and horn to trade. 

Dhavunlean crept forward, a young buck in their sights. It wouldn’t be too much meat to handle, and they wouldn't have to worry about depriving a fawn of its mother. It was a shame they wouldn't have time to make sausages or any of the things a Clan might have done with the offal, but they couldn't afford to stay in one place that long. Even way out here, it was too dangerous for elves to linger without a clan at their backs.

The rams hadn't noticed the hunter in their midst as of yet. Dhavunlean slowly exhaled and drew the arrow back to their cheek. Their heart thudded once and then they released. Less than a heartbeat later, the buck was down with an arrow to the eye. The herd erupted in chaos, and Dhavunlean pressed their back against a tree as the animals thundered through the gap in a squealing flood. Then, all was silent.

They approached their prize with a sigh, pushing through the willow fronds that the dying creature had staggered into. The adahl’ishaor wasn't even twitching, and Dhavunlean pulled their arrow out with a practiced twisting motion. The shaft was cracked, but the precious ironwood head was undamaged. Only when they had stowed it back in their quiver did they trouble themselves to look around, and what they saw made them suck in a breath. Behind the willow trees were ruins. Elvhen ruins, older than any they'd ever seen before, and much more intact. They were no student of history, neither a Keeper nor a hahren, but Dhavunlean knew that this was a significant find. Most astounding of all, a huge mirror made of bronzed glass mottled like grease on water stood in the center, flanked by two stone wolves howling. An eluvian, whole and unsullied. If only there was someone to tell…

That’s when they knew just what to do. 

********************

They arrived back at the camp as night was falling with the dressed carcass slung over their shoulders. “You were successful,” Felassan said, helping them lift the dead animal from their back. Dhavunlean wondered what would have happened if they hadn't returned. Would he have worried? Searched for them? Or would he have simply accepted his fate, eventually starving or freezing to death? It was a depressing thought.

“This should be enough meat to last us a few weeks, and the hunting will be better the further north we go.”

“Have you decided on our course, then?” he asked, already pulling a knife from his hip and starting to separate the limbo from the body.

“I have. There's a member of my Clan, my former Clan, that is, who lives in Kirkwall. Or she did, last I checked. Merrill knows about strange magic; she was First to our Keeper. I’m hoping she can help you.”

“There have been rumors that Tranquility can be reversed,” Felassan said, though Dhavunlean couldn't tell if he really believed it. “That was one of the reasons why the mages rebelled, they say.”

“It's our best bet right now,” they said firmly. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

They didn't go to sleep until the moon was high in the sky, busy as they were cooking and preparing the meat. Dhavunlean laid their bedroll close to the fire. It was awkward to realize that they missed Felassan’s warmth. It had been almost like being back with the clan, but now that he was conscious, but not exactly whole, it didn't feel right to suggest. Still, even with the chill, they were exhausted enough to fall asleep in minutes.

******************

“Thank you, for helping me,” said a voice beside them. It was almost familiar, but not, because it was filled with humor and warmth. Dhavunlean turned.

“Felassan, is that you? But it can't be! You're…”

“Tranquil?” he offered with a grim smile. “Out there, I am. But here, my true self lives, though who knows for how long.” Dhavunlean looked around. They were in a sunny woodland that was something like the Brecilian forest the clan had spent their childhood in, but every time they turned their head, there was a strange sort of blurring effect. It reminded them of the time they’d had some of the ‘special’ hearthcakes at the Arlathvhen. And how had they come here? The last thing they remembered was being asleep…

“This is the Beyond,” they realized. “I don't usually have these kind of dreams.”

“You wouldn't normally, no.. All of our people have the potential for magic, but the Veil separates most of us from our power. I am a Somniari, a Dreamwalker. I drew you here so that I could speak to you.”

“Why?” Dhavunlean asked. “Just to thank me?”

He shrugged. “I was curious. I can't see everything that happens to my body, only snippets and fragments, and the Beyond doesn't always show the truth. I wondered what kind of person would do so much to aid a stranger. I don’t even know your name.”

“I could hardly leave you to die,” they replied, frowning. “Besides, it's been a long time since I've had the company of another of the People.”

“You helped me because you believe me to be Dalish,” he said, his eyebrow arched.

“I might have helped anyone I found alone like that, but I wouldn't have stayed if you were a shem. One of them would have been just as likely to kill me as thank me,” Dhavunlean said, feeling defensive. “Why, aren't you?”

He pursed his lips. “A question for another time. I think your plan to go to Kirkwall is a good one. Even if your friend is not there, we will hear plenty of news regarding the rebel mages and the Wardens, both of whom might have the information we need. Perhaps we will even run into more of the People on the way. I assume you are looking for a new Clan?”

“I was. But with Clan Virnehn destroyed as well, the only other Clan I have any hope to find is Lavellan, and they're in the Free Marches anyway.”

“What happened to your clan, if you don't mind my asking? Which one was it?”

“Sabrae,” Dhavunlean replied with a sigh. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what really happened. It all started at the beginning of the Fifth Blight. Two of our hunters found a mirror, one of those eluvians, tainted by the darkspawn. One of them died, and the other, Tamlen, disappeared. Our Keeper told us he was as good as dead, but the First wouldn't give up. She kept pieces of the mirror for years, determined to reassemble it, and finally, she asked a demon for advice, and turned to blood magic. The Keeper was furious and banished her. We all thought that was the end of it, and then, the Keeper started acting strangely. Merrill claimed that the demon of Sundermount had possessed Marethari, and when Merrill couldn't help, the demon destroyed the Clan.”

“Is that what you believe?” Felassan asked, eyes sharp.

“I don't know,” Dhavunlean said. “The Keeper was behaving oddly, but Merrill admitted to doing blood magic. Everyone said the Veil at Sundermount was strange. In the end, does it matter whose fault it was, if the Clan was destroyed anyway?”

“Well, if this Merrill is a bloodthirsty abomination, I have some reservations about trusting myself to her care,” Felassan said, but he was smiling.

“From what I’ve heard, all of Kirkwall is abominations now,” Dhavunlean said with a snort.

“True, true. We will have to take care on the road to avoid the worst of the conflict. If Fen’harel succeeds with his plan, things will only get worse.” Dhavunlean looked at him skeptically. “You don't believe me?”

“The Dread Wolf is just a story to scare children into behaving,” they said, though it was more of a hope than a belief.

Felassan grimaced. “If only that were true. He certainly isn't the monster he's made out to be, but his intentions for the world are not peaceful. If we continue to travel together, you may yet cross paths with him.” He shrugged. “Still, that is a problem for another day. Dareth shiral, lethallen. Do try not to get me killed.”

“My name is Dhavunlean, by the way.” Felassan grinned.

“Sun-kissed. How fitting.” 

When Dhavunlean woke the next morning, Felassan was already awake, stirring a pot of broth with his usual blank expression. “You didn't have any strange dreams, did you?” they asked.

“One cannot dream if one is not connected to the Fade. So, no. I did not.” If a Tranquil could be melancholy, that was certainly the emotion that displayed on his face.

They sighed. “Right. Sorry for asking.”


	2. Fade and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue to travel together, and Dhavunlean spends more time with Felassan in the Fade. Their initial attraction to him grows deeper, and they finally arrive in Halam’shiral.

They packed their meager belongings in the morning light. Felassan picked up his staff, running his fingers over the well-worn wood as if he might extract something of his former self. “It would be foolish to take it with us,” he said after a moment. “Neither of us can make use of it, and it will only attract the attention of those intent in blaming mages for the conflict.”

Dhavunlean arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to bring it?” He looked up at them, and they knew he was searching for the emotions he knew should be there. Finally, he seemed to give up, his features relaxing into indifference.

“It is an ancient and powerful object. Though it may bring us trouble, it also would be a waste to abandon it. I leave the decision to you.”

They took the staff from him and slung it onto their back next to their bow. “If we do manage to reverse your… problem, you'll miss your staff, but if we’re going to attract trouble, I'd rather have it find me first. You ought to have a weapon, though, just in case.”

“I have a bow and daggers as well,” he replied. “I am accustomed to taking care of myself.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Dhavunlean said. “That will make our journey easier. But if you need something, you'll have to tell me. If you overextend yourself or get injured, that will only make us vulnerable.”

“Yes. I will keep you appraised of my condition,” he agreed. “Do you know what route we will take?”

“I plan to go north to Lydes, then west, along the coast. If we’re lucky, we'll be able to get passage with a caravan in exchange for meat from Val Royeaux to Kirkwall.”

“It would be better to go to Halamshiral, then east to Jader. We can take a ship across the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. It is a much quicker route.”

“Considering what happened to the alienage, I thought it would be prudent to avoid Halamshiral, and we don’t have the coin for passage.”

“I have contacts there. We will be able to get what we need. This much, at least, I can provide.”

Dhavunlean shrugged. “All right. I have always wanted to see it.”

“You have never seen Halamshiral?” Felassan asked. At least, they thought it was a question. It was difficult to tell with the lack of inflection to his voice.

“No. My clan spent my early years in the forests of Southern Ferelden and Orlais, but at the beginning of the Fifth Blight, we traveled northward into the Free Marches. Halamshiral was quite out of our way. And the elders always thought it was too depressing to visit anyway.”

“It is full of old memories,” Felassan said. “But there are still things of value to be found.” They left their sheltered clearing and traveled north along the river. With the mage-templar conflict ready to flare up at any moment, both apostates and rogue templars often turned to banditry. Dhavunlean wanted to avoid the road as much as possible.

The first two days of travel were uneventful. They usually got up just before dawn to eat and break down camp, walked until nearly midday, and then hid themselves and rested for a few hours before starting off again and going until past dark. 

Dhavunlean hoped that this would allow them to cover the most ground with the least risk. But on the third day, Felassan was limping by the time they were ready for their first rest.

Dhavunlean frowned at him as they started setting up camp. “You sit down until I can look at your leg. You promised me you would tell me if you were having problems.”

“I apologize. I twisted my ankle last night, but I thought it would be better by the morning. This sort of injury never used to trouble me.”

“I’ll take a look at it after I get a fire going. We’ll be staying here tonight, at the very least.” He watched them set up camp as if he was interested in how they went about it, though of course, his faced showed no emotion. Perhaps he was simply collecting information about their preferences for later. Whether because of Tranquility or despite it, Felassan was nothing if not considerate. Dhavunlean kept the fire small and as smokeless as they could manage; it was only to warm water for now, and when it was going steadily, they turned back to him. “So which leg is it?” He stuck out his right foot. Even with footwraps on, the ankle looked swollen. “Do you want to unwrap or should I?”

“I will do it,” he said, so Dhavunlean turned back to the pot of water on the fire, but just as it was starting to boil, they heard a soft noise of distress behind them. 

“Hold on, I’ll be right there,” they said, pulling the pot out of the flames and pouring some of the water into two dented tin mugs, and setting the rest on a stone to cool. When they turned to Felassan, his face was drawn and tight.

“It is more uncomfortable than I expected,” he said, his voice strained. Someone had told Dhavunlean that Tranquil couldn’t feel pain, but obviously that wasn’t true. Perhaps they just didn't show it the way other people would. They knelt beside him and peered at his now bare ankle. A blue-purple bruise was spreading from the joint across the top of his foot.

“That doesn’t look great,” Dhavunlean said, chewing their lip. “I’m going to try and move it a little. Let me know if it’s too much.” He nodded, a long breath hissing through his teeth as he prepared for the inevitable. They were as gentle as they could be, moving each toe and then his whole foot, feeling for unusual grinding or crunching. There was a fine sheen of sweat his forehead, but he made no sound. “I don’t think it’s broken, just a sprain. It looks worse than it is, but you should still stay off it as much as possible. You really thought something like this would heal overnight?”

“It is a more serious injury than I anticipated, but yes. My connection to the Fade decreased my need for food and sped natural healing.” His brow furrowed, as if he wasn’t sure he should have divulged that information. 

Dhavunlean considered as they checked the tea. He’d said many strange things in the past few days, and now they were sure it wasn't just due to confusion or injury. Perhaps it was time to get some answers. They supposed it wasn’t as if they could alarm him in his current state. “The other night, someone that looked like you approached me in the Beyond. They said you weren’t Dalish. Is that true?” 

“I am not,” he answered, “Though I have often allowed people to believe that was the case. You saw me, in the Fade?”

“He claimed to be you. I’m not a mage, so I couldn’t exactly prove it. I made you some willowbark tea. It should help with the pain and swelling, but we don't have any honey, so it's going to be bitter.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup and holding it gingerly in his fingers. “You should, of course, be cautious, but I believe it was me. As a trained Dreamwalker, I am more able to withstand the trauma of severing than most.”

“So, if you aren't Dalish, why do you have vallaslin? Are you some sort of spy, and that's just part of your cover?” It made Dhavunlean slightly ill, to consider that someone would use the sacred rites of their people as a disguise, but he shook his head.

“The use of vallaslin predates the formation of the Dales by several millennia. I received mine as a mark of service for Lady Mythal before the fall of Arlathan. But I am a spy, or I was, before…” He trailed off, seeming to once again be searching for some sense of connection to his former life, but clearly not finding it. 

Dhavunlean couldn't quite process what they were hearing. It made no sense. “Are you saying that you were alive before the fall of Arlathan?”

“Yes,” he said in his usual flat voice. “I spent some of that time in uthenera, but I have been in the world for the past fifteen years.” Once again, they wondered whether a Tranquil could lie. But why would he? They were already helping him; he had nothing to gain. 

“But… if there are still immortal elves around, why don't they help the rest of us? There is so much that the Dalish could learn.”

“The Dalish have been unwilling to hear what we could teach because it challenges the scraps of history they have managed to pull from Tevinter’s grasp. Immortality, however, is impossible as the world is now. Once the Veil was erected, the lifespans of newly born Elvhen began to diminish.”

Dhavunlean hardly knew what to respond to first. Even though they had little to do with magic, they knew the Veil as a constant, like the ground or the sky. The fact that it had apparently been… constructed, like a building, was difficult to comprehend. They turned their attention to something less confusing. “I can't believe any Keeper wouldn't jump at the chance to learn more of our history.”

“The Veil was built, in part, to stop a war that had been raging for hundreds of years. The lore of the Dales was created by survivors of that conflict, from the side that opposed my people. Relics of those ancient prejudices remain,” he said, taking a sip of the tea. His lips pursed at the no-doubt astringent taste, but he drank without comment.

“Are you talking about the war between the Creators and the Forgotten Ones? Whose side were you on?” they asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Yes and no. This conflict was not entirely part of that war but it was a consequence of it. I already told you of my allegiance.”

Dhavunlean frowned. They hadn't believed it, when he'd told them before, but they hadn't forgotten. “Fen’harel. I suppose that means you won, in the end.”

“No,” Felassan said. “In that war, there was no victory.” It was such a bleak sentiment, even more so delivered in the flat monotone of Tranquility. Dhavunlean sighed.

“If you're done with that tea, I think we ought to go down to the stream, if you can. Soaking your foot in the cold water will help, and then I'll make you a splint.” 

*****************

It wasn't until much later, when the sun had set behind the trees, that Dhavunlean allowed themself to consider what Felassan had revealed. He was sound asleep after another cup of willow tea, his ankle wrapped and propped up on his pack, and he looked no different than any elf in the prime of his life, but he was old… older than they could even comprehend. He'd lived in Arlathan when the Elvhen were still free, immortal and unconquered. And Fen’harel was real. They all were; the Creators, the Forgotten Ones… 

Dhavunlean had listened dutifully to the hahren, memorizing the tales as every Dalish child did. But they hadn't been real, not in the same way as the rain and the trees and the blood of the hunt. The stories were lessons, the Creators were a comforting way to explain a chaotic world. That's what Dhavunlean had always thought, until now. The existence of such beings was more terrifying than it was reassuring. Something that powerful could never have your best interests at heart, it would squash you flat without noticing. It was like ants expecting benevolence from a shemlen wearing boots. And nothing good could come from the return of Fen’harel. 

They stared into the fire, chewing a stem of elfroot in hopes of calming their anxiety. It was long past time for sleep, but they felt jittery and exposed. There were not many night noises this late in the season, but each one: the low hoot of an owl, the crack of a branch, the muted rustling of dried leaves, put their teeth on edge. They sighed out a breath and chewed another piece of elfroot. If only their pipe hadn't broken last month… Their eyes stung in the smoke of the fire, and they rubbed them and yawned, leaning back against a tree.

“So now you know the truth. Or some of it anyway,” Felassan said, grinning so that white points of his canines showed. 

Dhavunlean jumped up. “I didn't mean to fall asleep. Someone should be keeping watch.”

“Do not fear, lethallen. I've been keeping an eye on things, as much as I can through the Veil. There’s nothing nearby to threaten us, and if that changes, I will wake you.” They sighed, allowing themselves to settle back down to the ground. Once again, they were in a forest clearing, though this one seemed more like the one they were currently sleeping in. Felassan was crouched by the fire, poking it idly with a long stick. 

“So, you're really from Arlathan?” they asked, though they felt more than a little ridiculous. Felassan nodded, his violet eyes crinkling.

“I was born in the middle of nowhere, the same as you,” he said. “But I did go to the city, once I became an adult. The tales are only a pale reflection of the beauty and magnificence of the heart of Elvhenan,” he said, his gaze far away. Dhavunlean was tempted to ask, among the thousand other questions crowded on their tongue, but Felassan spoke again, his eyes growing sharp and present. “There was magic and art the likes of which mortals can hardly imagine. The air rang with music. But it was only a veneer over the corruption at the core.”

“Is that why you choose to join Fen’harel?” they asked, suppressing a shiver at the name. The Dread Wolf was a figure of nightmares, but a part of a Dhavunlean wondered how accurate those stories could be. Surely no flesh and blood person could be so cruel, motivated by nothing but the enjoyment of watching others suffer. It wasn't realistic. But then, Fen’harel had been the one to make Felassan Tranquil, and what purpose could that serve? 

“In part,” Felassan answered. “I admired his goals. He originally fought for peace between the factions, and when that was no longer possible, he tried to protect the common folk from the worst ravages of the war, hampering both sides to lessen the potential for destruction. When that war was over, and those you know as the Creators began to grow in power and greed, he sought a way to halt those excesses. Mythal was his only ally then, and she had to be discreet, to keep peace amongst her relations. That was how I became involved.”

“But then, Fen’harel betrayed her. He locked the gods away,” Dhavunlean said, hesitant in the sudden flood of new information. Tranquil Felassan could not lie, probably, but this person could be any sort of spirit or demon. Despite that, they found themself wanting to trust him.

“Not Mythal,” he said, his expression turning melancholy. “She was murdered, by her own husband and children, some say, though I was not present. The Veil was vengeance for her murder, in part, an act of anguish and desperation. Fen’harel did not anticipate all of its effects, but he should have. Perhaps his biggest failure; he acted too quickly and the Elvhen suffered.”

Dhavunlean’s eyebrows shot upward. “You're saying Fen’harel… built the Veil?” Felassan nodded gravely. 

“Not alone, of course. All of us that had magical skill assisted with our power, but he was the architect. The working of it drained him utterly, and he slept. Therefore, he did not fully comprehend the consequences of his actions until much later. Now, he wishes to remedy that fact.”

“What is he planning to do?” Dhavunlean asked, though they weren't sure they really wanted to know.

“He will tear down the Veil, in hopes of restoring the Elvhen to what they should be.”

Staring into the leaping glow of the fire, Dhavunlean wondered if that would be such a bad thing. Even among the Dalish, there had been much suffering, and the city elves, they knew, had it worse. “Will it work?”

“Perhaps. Certainly not right away. In the meantime, thousands, perhaps millions will die in the chaos. To be honest, I am not even certain that his plans end there. Although we are… were old friends, I doubt he revealed all of his thoughts to me.”

None of that sounded promising. “You disagreed with him, and he killed you for it.”

Felassan sighed. “I was one of his agents in the physical world, and I was tasked with bringing him… some information that would have aided his plans. But when I finally discovered what it was I needed to know, I passed it along to someone I thought would make better use of it. A young city elf in Orlais who wanted to make life better for her people. I thought he would understand, that he would see that the Elvhen of this world and time are worth our help. Obviously, I was wrong.” His eyes flicked back to them and he smiled. “Luckily for me, I was discovered by a kind and clever Dalish elf, so perhaps my story isn't quite over.”

Dhavunlean found their cheeks heating unexpectedly, and they looked down to conceal their blush. On closer inspection, the ground wasn't quite as detailed as the ground should be, like a painting, almost. They almost wanted to ask how it all worked. “So, if we can restore you to your former self, what will you do?”

His expression didn't change, but his posture turned ever so slightly inward. “I suppose I will have to oppose him, if only to save my own skin. Hiding from Fen’harel would be a fool’s errand. Unless his plan progresses more quickly than I think it will. Then we will all have bigger things to attend to.”

There was a long moment of quiet after that, which only highlighted the unnatural environment. The fire did not crackle or smoke. Dhavunlean wanted to break the silence but could think of nothing to say. Just as they opened their mouth, intent on asking about Arlathan again, Felassan turned back to them. “I suppose I ought to wake you up so you can go to bed properly. You must have your hands full, now that I've gone and injured myself.”

“You aren't so bad,” Dhavunlean replied with a half-smile. “Very helpful, and not so terrible to look at either.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, lethallen,” he said, but his eyes were glittering with humor. He reached out and pressed a warm finger to their forehead. “Awaken.”

**********************

The next morning, his ankle was much improved, and they continued on their journey at a slightly slower pace. They fell into an easy routine. In his current state, Felassan wasn't exactly friendly, but he was easy to get along with, and he could hunt, fish and set snares as easily as they could. And most nights, the other Felassan appeared in their dreams, sometimes only for a few moments, to give advice or hear stories from their day. Dhavunlean began to look forward to the night like the anticipated visit of a favorite friend. More than that, even. He hadn't become any less attractive, and the more they knew him, the more they wished to know. It was rather embarrassing. For one thing, he might not even be real, and for another, it made things with the other Felassan, the Tranquil man of flesh and blood, awkward on occasion. The only good thing about it was that he didn't seem to notice.

After about a week of walking, his ankle was healed, and Halamshiral was in sight. “Are you sure your contacts won't be put off by your… condition?” Dhavunlean asked as they approached the outer gates. The towers of the Winter Palace soared in the background, but there was little about them that suggested Elvhen influence. Chevaliers in gleaming mail strode the walls, and Dhavunlean stifled a shudder. Shems were like wild animals; if they sensed your fear, they were that much more likely to attack. 

“They may be concerned, but it is in the nature of the people here not to ask too many questions,” he replied. “We have to go to the lower market, which is past the alienage.”

“Or what's left of it,” Dhavunlean muttered. Nearly every elf in Thedas had heard what had happened here. Not that it was the first time someone had massacred elves for no reason, but being in Halamshiral made it all he more poignant.

The guards eyed them suspiciously but didn't stop or question as they made their way into the city. It wasn't any different than Kirkwall or Wycombe at first glance, crowded and noisy with an undercurrent of suspicion and disdain from every person that saw their vallaslin. But occasionally, Dhavunlean would spy a carving on an archway, or a peculiar shape to a cobblestone that would betray the city’s true origins. Their throat went hot and tight with anger even as regret made their limbs heavy. The Elvhen had lost so much, more than the Dalish even knew. It wasn't hard to understand why Felassan would choose to follow Fen’harel if he promised to return even some of the elves’ former glory. 

The scent of charcoal drifted to their nostrils, and they realized they had reached the gate of the alienage. Tents and makeshift shelters of the few survivors were pressed against the walls, and the sight of dirty, hollow-eyed children made Dhavunlean’s stomach turn. They wanted to stop and help, and they handed out a few pieces of smoked venison, but there wasn't much to spare.

Meanwhile, Felassan continued past, unaffected; the most disturbing evidence of his Tranquility that they had yet seen. Dhavunlean couldn't help but compare him to the Felassan she knew from the Fade. He would have helped the children, they were sure. He would be angry to see such suffering. They could imagine the fierce light in his eyes, and they shivered. This was no time to be distracted. 

The charnel smell abated, and the sounds of many voices filled the air. Stalls covered in brightly colored fabrics popped up on every side of the street. Dhavunlean had never seen so many… things. Fruits they couldn't identify, fabrics more fine and vibrant than they could ever have imagined, weapons, books, animals, and more. Felassan weaved through it all as skillfully as a goat on a mountain trail, and Dhavunlean had to walk quickly to keep up. Most of the people ignored them, but a few recognized Felassan and waved. He nodded to each of them, and finally he spotted whatever he’d been looking for.

“Felassan!” shouted a large, bearded man with bright scarves at his waist and on his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Where have you been?” He crushed Felassan in a bear hug which was returned rather awkwardly. 

“I have been traveling the Dales for several months, but now my friend and I require passage to Kirkwall. Can that be arranged?” The man frowned, peering into Felassan’s face.

“You don’t sound quite like yourself, my friend. Are you all right?” he asked, and Dhavunlean squirmed, wondering if they should intervene.

“I am well enough,” Felassan said. “But I have suffered an incident which I would rather not discuss. Dhavunlean is assisting me in rectifying this issue.”

The man did not look quite convinced, but he took a step back. “Are you sure Kirkwall is where you want to go? That place is still a mess. It’s dangerous.”

“I have a friend there who can help us,” Dhavunlean said. “It’s about as safe as anywhere else at the moment.” The man let out a loud guffaw of laughter.

“True enough, true enough.” He turned around and consulted a huge, battered ledger. “A caravan from Montissmard departs tomorrow for Jader. In a week's time, you can meet the Golden Halla on its way to Kirkwall, captained by our old friend Anise. Does that suit?”

“That would be fine.” A few minutes later, they had letters of introduction to both the caravan master and the ship captain, though the latter wouldn't strictly be needed.

“Just in case,” said their jovial friend. “These are suspicious times. Do you two have a place to sleep?”

“I have coin enough for an inn,” Felassan said. The other man arched an eyebrow and shook his head.

“No, no. You’ll sleep at my place. We have an extra bed. My wife is always saying we don’t get enough visitors. Much safer than an inn, and better food too,” he added with a laugh. Dhavunlean looked at Felassan, and he met her gaze evenly.

“If that does not trouble you, I see no problem with it.” Dhavunlean could think of a number of things that could go wrong, but on the other hand, they weren’t one to turn down a free meal from a friendly face. So they followed the big man, whose name turned out to be Carp, strangely enough, up into the Merchants’ Quarter. 

He had a surprisingly nice set of rooms above a butcher’s shop, shared with his wife and children. There were at least three, but they had an extraordinary ability to pop up underfoot at unexpected times so it was hard to be sure. Their joyful noise made Felassan’s silence less noticeable, and the meal passed without incident. The food was good too; it reminded Dhavunlean of home, and they felt ashamed that it had taken them so long to realize. Carp’s wife was an elf. She hid her ears behind her hair, but once they had seen the first signs, it was clear from both her facial features and her mannerisms. Carp saw them watching and nodded.

“Sal was raised Dalish, just like you two, but her Clan got raided by slavers. Felassan found her with some jumped-up noble in Val Royeaux. He always said he rescued her by chance, but I know better. He almost got himself killed.” Felassan didn't comment; he seemed absorbed in the book Carp had given him a few minutes earlier.

“Is that how you know him?” Dhavunlean asked, but Carp shook his head.

“No, I've known Felassan for a long time. He kept beating me at cards and taking all my money. When he found Sal, he hired me to take her to Halamshiral where he knew folks who would take her in. Even when she was hurt and scared, she was a strong, sweet girl. I was so charmed I had to keep visiting. Now we’ve been married five years.” Sal smiled and put a hand on Carp’s shoulder.

“What about you and Felassan?” she asked with a knowing grin. It took Dhavunlean a moment to understand.

“No, no, we aren't… together,” they stammered, looking at him sideways. He was still reading, untroubled.

Carp laughed. “Perhaps not yet. I see the way you look at him.”

Dhavunlean felt like their face was on fire. “It doesn't matter how I feel, not when he's like… that,” they said, gesturing vaguely in his direction.

“Yes,” Carp said, frowning. “I have seen mages like this before, but I've never heard of it being reversed. Can you really help him?”

“If anyone can, it's Merrill,” Dhavunlean replied firmly. “Even if she can't, I couldn't just leave him alone.”

“He may not say so now, but the Felassan I know would be touched by your aid. And he certainly would be interested in the attention of such a lovely young elf,” Carp added with a playful wink. “Don't give up hope.”

************************

They were led to a room which contained a bed, a window, and nothing else, as there was no space on the floor for more. Not that Dhavunlean hadn't slept in close quarters before, but this was different. Felassan had no idea that they were attracted to them, and no way to respond either. It wasn't fair, to either of them, and Carp’s words, though meant to soothe, had only made Dhavunlean more distressed. They weren’t helping Felassan because of their feelings for him. At least they hoped not, and they didn’t like the idea that he might feel beholden to them if he ever was cured, 

Untroubled by their dilemma, he fell asleep immediately, curled on his side with his back to them, which was a sort of relief. They laid on the very edge of the bed, facing outward and listening to his slow breathing. It took a long time to go to sleep.

“How did you find Halamshiral?” Felassan asked almost the moment they opened their eyes. They found themself on a rooftop overlooking the city. In the distance, oil lamps illuminated the Winter Palace, but here, the only light came from the nearly full moon. Despite their conflicted feelings, Dhavunlean couldn't help but smile to see him there, leaning back against the roof slates and looking at the sky.

“I didn't see a lot of it,” they replied. “But there wasn't much left of the Elvhen in what I did see.”

“No, it's an Orlesian city now,” Felassan agreed. “There are traces, but only if you know where to look.” There was a pause, and the air seemed charged with anticipation. “Would you like to see it?”

“What do you mean?” Dhavunlean asked. He was just a profile lined in silver, his eyes gleaming with reflected moonlight, but somehow they knew he was smiling.

“I can show you Halamshiral, as it was at the height of Dalish culture,” he said. “That is one advantage of the Fade. There are memories here even from Arlathan, though it would take more time to call up something other than my own recollections.”

“I’d have to be crazy to turn that down,” they said, and Felassan laughed, a warm, rich sound that skipped down their spine and pooled in their lowest belly. He held out a hand and the scene changed, melting and reforming like blobs of colored wax. They were no longer on a roof, but a wide boulevard lit by crystal lamps. The air smelled of blossoms, and they could hear faint strains of music in the distance. In front of them was a tree, an ironwood bigger than any Dhavunlean had ever seen or imagined. Stairs spiraled around the trunk and platforms in the branches were connected by rope bridges, all lighted by innumerable crystals hanging from above. Dhavunlean could hardly form words.

“Our histories have never said anything about this,” they said, gesturing to the tree and everything around it.

“You can hardly blame them,” Felassan said. “So many of the survivors of the Dales were children, and few indeed from the capital made it out. Stories of Halamshiral got tangled with the older tales of Arlathan, and now no one knows what’s what.”

“This is the sort of thing the Dalish would love to hear. Maybe it isn't useful, but it is beautiful. It would be a good place to start,” Dhavunlean said as they began walking down the street. Elves walked past them talking and laughing, ephemeral as ghosts.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Felassan said, brow furrowing. “We have been quick to tell the Dalish where they are wrong because it seemed the most important information to convey, but if we began this way, adding to their history, we might build more trust. Of course, it may be too late, if Fen’harel has his way.”

Dhavunlean frowned. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“One battle at a time, lethallen,” Felassan said fondly, and he held out his hand. “Come, there is more to see.” Their heart began to pound so hard they were afraid he might hear it, but they summoned their courage and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading despite my glacial update speed and continual adding to my WIP’s. XD I hope everyone enjoys it.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Kirkwall continues. Dhavunlean gets seasick,but finally they arrive in the city of chains. Merrill is a little wary of them at first, but after hearing Felassan’s story, she tells them that Hawke and Anders can help, but they’re all the way in Weisshaupt Fortress. Fortunately, she has a working eluvian. In the Fade, Felassan becomes suspicious of Dhavunlean’s continued help, and they are forced to divulge their feelings.

In the morning, Felassan was gone from the bed when Dhavunlean woke, which was just as well. Their night in Halamshiral had left them restless, and they were more than glad to accept the hot bath Sal offered in solitude. If only they could wash their feelings away as easily as the dirt.

Felassan in the Fade was charming, warm and playful, full of stories. They would have been attracted to him if he'd been plain, even ugly; his mix of sincerity and humor was exactly what they had always wanted in a partner. The fact that he was also beautiful seemed almost unfair.

Add to that the fact that they still weren't entirely sure that Fade Felassan wasn't some sort of demon, and the knowledge that their longing for him was at least partly driven by their own loneliness… It was a mess. The person he was in the Fade wasn't the person he was here, and they knew it wasn't fair to put all those hopes and emotions on his shoulders. If Merrill could help him… maybe then… they couldn't even let themselves finish the thought.

Luckily, Felassan in the material world didn't notice their conflict as they met the caravan outside the city gates. The leader was a merchant from Rivain, Takari Jaro, a woman with dark brown skin and gold jewelry draped or hanging from everywhere it was conceivable to do so. She looked them over with regal dignity, read the letter from Carp, and looked them over again before nodding.

“You’ll ride in my wagon,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “If anyone gives you trouble, they'll hear it from me.”

Dhavunlean shifted nervously. They'd already had so much help from Carp. More charity felt not only wrong, but inviting disaster, somehow. “We can work. I can hunt and cook.”

Takari laughed, hearty and rich. “I don't doubt it. But the area we’re heading through isn't safe for an elf to wander alone, and my daughter handles most of the camp cooking. If you or your friend can mend clothes or tend the horses in the evening, you're welcome to pitch in.”

“All right.” They shook hands in the human fashion and Dhavunlean and Felassan climbed into the back of the wagon. A young woman, fifteen or sixteen at most, grinned at them in a friendly way.

“You must me the guests Mama told us about. My name is Maraya.”

************

The week passed slowly, but not as slow as Dhavunlean feared. Traveling in the wagons reminded them of aravels, of sleeping curled up next to their mother and sisters, and singing old songs on the long trips. It might have been melancholy, but Maraya proved to be good company, just as curious to learn about the Dalish as she was to share the stories of her own journeys into Tevinter and Nevarra with her parents. Even Felassan shared accounts of his travels, though his left something to be desired in the story-telling department.

Fade-Felassan showed up to check on them every night, but he didn't often stay, explaining that he wanted to conserve his energy for Kirkwall. Dhavunlean missed him but had to admit that it put less strain on their emotions. The other Felassan, at least, seemed content. 

He was much more patient and dexterous at mending than they were, and also had a way with horses. Dhavunlean, for all their skill at hunting and tracking, had never got on with the halla, and the shem creatures were even worse. Still, Dhavunlean followed Felassan every evening as he fed and brushed the two giant beasts that pulled the wagon. No matter how many times he assured them they were gentle creatures, they always stayed well out of kicking range.

Finally, they could see Jader on the horizon. Despite Takari’s warning, no one had so much as given them a funny look, so Dhavunlean had taken to walking beside the wagons in the morning to stretch their legs. Felassan always joined them; he might not feel boredom in the same way, but they could tell inactivity made him restless. 

“So, we’ll board the Golden Halla just as we arrive in the city, and it sails at dawn?” they asked him, more out of anxiety than anything else. This was all new to them. The clan had always passed west of Jader on their journey north and boats… Dhavunlean could swim, in a pond or a river, but Sabrae had not been a coastal clan. They had never been on a boat in their life.

“Yes,” Felassan said in his usual toneless voice. “I have travelled with the captain, Anise, before. She is a smuggler, but one we can trust.”

“She's a pirate?” Crossing the ocean on a pirate vessel sounded like something Dhavunlean might have dreamed up as a child. Now it was less than comforting.

“Yes. She is an elf, and she doesn't deal in slaves or drugs. She transports magical artifacts from Tevinter and Rivain, selling them to apostates and circle mages in the south.”

“Sounds dangerous,” they said, eyebrows raised. 

“It would be, if she did not have noble patrons,” he agreed. “With most of the Templars in Fereldens and Orlais, I do not anticipate much difficulty.”

The timing would have been funny if it hadn't been so dangerous. An arrow zipped through the air, thunking into the wood of the wagon beside them just inches from Felassan’s cheek. Cries echoed down the entire line; they hadn't been the only target.

“Circle the wagons!” Takari shouted, cracking her whip in the air and pulling a giant crossbow from under her seat. 

Dhavunlean yanked an unresisting Felassan behind the wagon, into the circle with all the children and non-combatants, and slipped their bow from behind their back, stringing it with a practiced motion, nocking the first arrow while two others were held ready. Their attackers, for the moment, were only shadows in the trees; they wouldn't draw until they had a clearer target.

Finally, a few crouching figures started to move towards the caravan, darting from cover to cover, dark-skinned and half-shirtless. Dhavunlean had encountered Tevinter soldiers before, never in pleasant circumstances. They drew the arrow to their cheek and loosed. It was right on target but skidded off the nearest man with a shower of blue sparks. 

“Damn slavers have mage support,” hissed Antonio, Takari’s Antivan husband. 

“How do you know they're slavers?” Dhavunlean asked even as they fired another arrow. This one found its home in a Vint’s throat, dropping him with barely a gurgle.

“Bandits aren't so organized or well-equipped. They usually only attack larger caravans at night, hoping to steal and get away before they're noticed. Besides, why else would Vints range so far south? They're too busy with the Qun to invade.” Another arrow thunked into the side of the wagon too near Dhavunlean’s head. They ducked back, sucking in a breath. 

Felassan was helping Maraya prepare bandages for the wounded, but he caught their eye. They could almost imagine, for a moment, that he was worried, but they knew it wasn't true. Now was hardly the moment for daydreaming. Dhavunlean darted to the other side of the wagon, already fitting another arrow to the string. They let fly as soon as they came around the corner, hitting someone in a crimson pointed hood, who fell- maybe not dead, but clearly injured.

“The mage is down!” Takari crowed, but Dhavunlean had no time to enjoy their victory. An arrow struck their side, a glancing blow that left a furrow of pain all along their ribs. They gasped, holding their hand to the wound, and a weighted snare, like you might use to catch a bird in flight, wrapped around their ankle. The Vint on the other end yanked, dragging them to the ground. 

They yelled, half anger and half pain, clawing at the dirt in an attempt to get upright. Behind them, people were shouting. “Help them! Shoot the bastard!” Takari bellowed. 

No one got the chance. A dagger flew through the air in a shining arc and buried itself in the eye of the slaver holding the chain. He fell, gasping, and someone pulled them backward by the shoulders, behind the wagons. Dhavunlean looked up into familiar violet eyes.

“Felassan? How did you… Why did you?” they sputtered. He laid a cool hand on their forehead.

“Be still, lethallen. You are injured,” he said, his voice still dull and hollow, but they could have sworn there was something there in his eyes, a flicker of life that disappeared almost immediately.

“I'm fine. I should help the others,” they said, struggling to sit up.

“Lie down, and let Felassan tend your wound,” Takari said, flashing a grim smile. “You killed the mage, and they lost their first captive. They’re already fleeing, looking for a softer target. We’re close to the city, so I'll let the guards know, but you're the hero of the day.”

“Felassan is, you mean,” they said, looking his direction. He was bringing over a pan of water, his expression somewhere between blank and determined. Why had he risked himself to save them?

******************

They bid goodbye to Takari and family with gratitude and a hint of regret. It had almost been like being with a clan… a similar rhythm of life and feeling of camaraderie. But only almost. “Good luck on your journey, Dhavunlean,” Takari said, clapping them on the shoulder a little more gently than they might have, probably out of consideration for their injury, minor as it was. “I hope you can help him. I can see how deep you care, and you deserve to have that returned.”

Dhavunlean bowed their head. What could they say? They didn't even know if he would… if he even thought of them at all, in the Fade. He was ancient and powerful, and they might as well be a child in comparison. The most they could hope for was to bring his two selves back together, so that maybe then, they would be able tell him…

They went onto the ship. Thankfully, Carp had managed to get them a small private room with two hammocks. It was dark by the time they laid down, after presenting their papers to the port master and introducing themselves to the captain. 

Anise was a feisty city elf, born in Llomeryn. She seemed to accept Felassan's condition as the sort of thing he got up to and snarked with feral glee at their report of taking down a slavers’ raiding party. As long as the sea behaved, Dhavunlean was content that they would make it to Kirkwall intact.

The hammock swayed with the waves that slapped rhythmically against the hull. Felassan was already breathing deep and even. The willowbark and elfroot tea he'd made for them had eased the pain in their ribs, and they were exhausted. It was easy enough to close their eyes and slide into dreams.

“You're all right,” he said, the words rushing on a sigh of relief with all the concern his other self hadn't been able to show. He was closer than usual; they could see the dark sweep of his eyelashes, feel the heat radiating off his skin, or at least, the dream-echo of it. The temptation to embrace him was so strong that their nails dug into their palms before the moment passed.

“The injury wasn't serious. Just a scratch, really,” Dhavunlean said, looking at the ground. Conflicting emotions made them feel strangely unsteady, like they had just survived an earthquake and were bracing for the aftershocks. They were glad to see that he cared enough to worry about them, especially since he tended to brush off most difficulties with laughter, but they felt almost… ashamed to have made him afraid over such a small thing.

He stepped back, a new, unnameable emotion moving behind his eyes. “Through the Fade, I could only see that there was a battle, that you had been hurt. The spirits reflected many emotions, pain, fear, anger. I tried to reach out, but learned nothing. A foolish waste of power. All I knew for sure was that you still lived.”

Dhavunlean blinked, realization a warm glow inside their chest. “But it wasn't a waste. He… You… the other you, saved me from the slavers. Just for a moment, I think, you were yourself.”

“Really?” he said, eyes narrowed in thought. “Things aren't as dire as I thought.” His face relaxed into something more resembling his normal expression. “I also wanted to warn you that I won't be able to find you, in the Fade, while you're at sea. There are too few spirits in the area to guide me, so rather than chance getting lost, I will meet you in Kirkwall.”

Dhavunlean swallowed back a panicked denial, knowing where the knot of anxiety in their stomach had its roots. He would find them again because he wished for his restoration, if nothing else. “I guess I'll see you there, then.”

“You will, lethallen, never fear.”

**********

It turned out that they hardly missed Felassan's presence because they were too miserable to think about anything else. The first morning they sat down to breakfast in the galley, Dhavunlean took one bite of a biscuit dipped in tea, the ship lurched beneath their feet, and they barely made it to the edge of the deck in time. 

When they were finished hurling their guts into the ocean, they looked up slowly to find Felassan standing at their elbow. “The captain says this tea will calm your stomach. Also stay above deck. Looking at the horizon will help you feel steadier.”

“Thanks,” they managed to mumble before bending over the rail again.

The sickness didn't begin to fade until they were in the calmer waters of Kirkwall’s harbor. The huge black chains that marked the entrance did not bring back pleasant memories. Blood and screams seemed to hover at the edges of their awareness. 

“The Veil is thin here. Fragile. Even more than I remember. So much death and suffering,” Felassan said, his eyes wide, almost unseeing.

Dhavunlean wondered what that meant. Would Fade Felassan be closer here? Would that make it easier to reverse Tranquility, or harder? “Are you all right, though?”

“I am well,” he assured them. “It is only a strange sensation, like something familiar just out of my grasp.” The words were melancholy, even if the tone was not.

Gulls swooped and cried as the ship glided toward the dock. The smell of salt and fish was so thick it felt like a film on the back of their tongue, like they'd never get rid of it. They had been at sea less than a week, but their first steps on land made their legs wobble like jelly. They leaned against a post, hoping to affect a pose of nonchalance as they recovered their balance, and looked around the city, trying remember which way to go. Kirkwall was still recovering from the beginning of the mage rebellion, and it had always been a dangerous place. Appearing lost would attract the wrong kind of attention. 

“Do you know where you friend is?” Felassan asked after a long silence. 

“I know where she was,” Dhavunlean admitted. “Merrill had a place in the alienage before. I suppose if she's moved on, that would be the first place to find information as well.”

It wasn't far from the docks to the alienage. Though they didn't know the city well enough to stray from the main thoroughfares, they soon spotted the vhenandahl, a massive tree that shaded out what little sunlight would have reached the street between the crooked walls of the high narrow tenements. 

Despite the dirt and the poverty, the alienage was colorful and lively. Children ran through the ragged market stalls, a hahren sang the old songs as she weaved on a crooked balcony. Asking around about Merrill resulting in a lot of narrowed eyes and dirty looks; the people were protective of their own, but finally someone pointed them to an apartment with daisies and leaping halla carved on the lintel. Dhavunlean took a deep breath and knocked.

“I hope it's the girl who sells herbs. I'm nearly out of rashvine nettle,” said a voice through the door just as it opened. “Oh, hello. You aren't the herb-seller at all.” Merrill hadn't changed much in the six months since the fall of their clan. She stood a little straighter, maybe had another scar or two. They hadn't been close… Merrill hadn't grown up in clan Sabrae, and as the First, she had been busy with her own duties, while Dhavunlean had already gone out into the woods as a hunter, but they hoped she hadn't completely forgotten her clanmates.

“No… I don't know if you remember but…” they began, suddenly nervous. What if she turned them away?

“Dhavunlean?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You were one of the clan’s most promising young hunters, before… It is you, isn't it?” She seemed less pleased to see them than they might have hoped. Her eyes were narrowed, her arms crossed over her chest.

“It is. My partner and I ran when the killing started but…” It was a memory Dhavunlean did not want to revisit… Rasanor’s broken body on the ground, begging them to run. So much blood… they shook their head. Now wasn't the time to let grief swallow them.

“I'm sorry about Rasanor,” Merrill said in a small voice, but then she squared her shoulders. Magic flickered in her right hand. “But if you've come to yell at me, or take vengeance, you might as well leave.”

Dhavunlean blinked. “No… I don’t know what happened that day. I don’t want to. The Keeper had been acting strangely for months. But I'm not here about that at all. I… We need your help.”

“Oh.” She peered around Dhavunlean to look at Felassan, who was waiting passively, staring up at the sun shining through the leaves of the vhenandahl. “Well, you may as well come in.”

Her house was larger than Dhavunlean expected, but fairly bare, one ragged tapestry on the wall, one lopsided table and some mismatched chairs and stools. But the rug on the floor was both plush and beautiful, and there were a few other things… a porcelain teapot, an intricately embroidered cloak, that showed connections with a less desperate lifestyle.

“Have a seat anywhere. Are you… hungry, thirsty? I'm still working on the hosting people thing but I know I'm supposed to ask that…”

Dhavunlean was starving actually. The walk through the city had chased the last of the seasickness away and abruptly reminded them that they hadn't eaten more than a few crackers in the past five days. But they didn't want to seem like beggars. “We don't need anything… You weren't exactly expecting visitors,” they said, chewing their lip.

“Don't worry about it. I actually have more food than I know what to do with. Between Aveline and Isabella, even Fenris sometimes, someone is always bringing me groceries. They must think I starve myself,” she said with a shake of her head. “If you can chop the vegetables, I'll make some of that spicy stew that the clan used to make in the winter.”

An hour later they were sitting down at the table with stew and rice and flatbread grilled on the hearthstones. There was a feeling of warmth welling in Dhavunlean's chest, separate from the pleasant sting of northern spices. It had been such a long time since they'd had a meal that really tasted like home. They could make simple meals on their own, but the clan recipes were usually kept only by the Hearthkeepers. It must’ve been part of Merrill’s training as well. At least everything hadn’t been lost.

Dhavunlean sighed in contentment over their empty plate. “So,” Merrill said, “Now that we’re all fed, why did you come all the way back here? You said you needed help.”

They nodded. “It’s really Felassan that needs your help. We’ve heard rumors that Tranquility can be reversed; I thought if anyone would know about it, it would be you.”

“I thought he seemed a bit…” she began, before awkwardly clearing her throat. Um, well, anyway… The Dalish don't do Tranquility that way. The Keeper did show Hawke and I a ritual to enter the dreams of a mage. If they were killed in the Fade, they would become Tranquil, but I’m not sure that’s helpful.”

“That’s what happened to Felassan,” Dhavunlean said. Merrill raised her eyebrows. She was intrigued, but if they told her the whole story, she might just think they were crazy… or she might be more inclined to assist. They decided to take the risk. “He was killed in his dreams by Fen’harel.”

“Fen’harel? But no one… sees the Dread Wolf,” Merrill said, wide-eyed. “I thought he was more like… a metaphor, for Death, or the Blight, or Tevinter.”

Felassan looked up, speaking in his flat, hollow voice. “Your Keepers use him as a specter, to frighten children into good behavior. But he is more than a ghost, and less. He was once just an elf, and now he walks Thedas again. I was his agent in the world while he slept, but I disobeyed…questioned our purpose, and for that, I paid the price.”

“What is his purpose then? I thought he already got what he wanted.”

“Fen’harel did not seal away the gods out of malice. It was the only way, he thought, to free all those enslaved and prevent the Evanuris from wreaking more destruction. But he did not foresee all the consequences of the Veil, though he should have. Now he plans to tear down his creation, but the damage to Thedas would be… catastrophic.”

Merrill shook her head slowly, clearly having difficulty processing this information. “So… the Dread Wolf made the Veil, and now he wants to destroy it. You questioned his plan, and he killed you… in the Fade.” She let out a long breath. “If that's all true, where is he now?”

“He is walking the world, trying to regain the power that he lost while he slept. While I am severed from myself, I am safe from his anger, but I am also unable to see what he may be doing.”

“Do you really want the Tranquility reversed, knowing it will put you in danger?”

Felassan shrugged at Merrill’s question. “I am only safe now due to Dhavunlean’s care. They wish for me to be restored. Also, I will be able to do more to resist Fen’harel when my magic is returned, despite the danger.”

Merrill nodded. “I don’t know how to reverse Tranquility, but I am pretty sure I know someone who does. Unfortunately, Hawke and Anders are staying with the Gray Wardens at Weisshaupt, in the Anderfels.”

“That's halfway across Thedas!” Dhavunlean exclaimed. “That could take more than a month.”

Felassan laid a hand on their arm. Their heart fluttered in their chest, and they fought the urge to stomp on their own foot. “If you do not wish to make that journey, I would understand. We could go north and seek Clan Lavellan near Wycombe.”

“No,” they replied, their jaw set. “I promised to help you. I'm just worried about traveling such a long way. We'd almost have to go through Tevinter,” It wasn't exactly the safest place for two elves.

“Actually,” Merrill interrupted, “I have a way that will take you as far as Hunter Fell in only a day of travel.”

“How?” Merrill answered the question by beckoning them into a room that had been blocked by a ragged curtain. She pulled a sheet from a large object in the corner of the room, revealing a large, ornate mirror. “The eluvian?” Dhavunlean muttered, horrified and transfixed all at once. It had killed Tamlen and might have been indirectly responsible for the death of their entire clan, but… “You really repaired it?”

“After what happened to the Clan, I thought about smashing it to pieces,” Merrill said in a wavering voice, “But Hawke convinced me not to abandon it. He said something good had to come out of that tragedy.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “I'm still not sure if he was right, but it does work.”

“It's beautiful, but what what does it have to do with traveling through Tevinter?” As far as Dhavunlean knew, eluvians had been used for communication between distant part of the Elvhen empire.

“Oh, right,” Merrill said sheepishly. “The eluvians aren't what we thought. You can't even look through them really, so I don't know why people say they're for communication. They're for travel. You walk through, and it leads to an… in between place, that connects to all the other eluvians.”

“It is called the Crossroads. Or it would be in the common tongue. The highways of ancient Elvhenan,” Felassan said, looking over the restored eluvian with dispassionate intensity, “I can lead us closer than Hunter Fell. There is an eluvian in Hossburg, in tunnels below the Circle of Magi.”

“You know about them?” Merrill asked, her eyes filled with eager light.

“That was my task for Fen’harel, to reclaim a chunk of the eluvian network in Orlais that had been chanced on by another. If I could still use magic, even more would be accessible, but there is no eluvian in Weisshaupt, as far as I'm aware.”

“What does Fen’harel want with the eluvians? Could he come through here?” Merrill asked. It was hard to tell whether she was nervous or excited. She wasn’t frightened to meet the Dread Wolf, Dhavunlean realized, she was delighted to know that he was real.

“The obvious use would be to facilitate communication between his agents, or to allow him to travel through Thedas quickly undetected. But I suspect he also has secret places in the Crossroads that he wishes to access, perhaps to recover magical artifacts,” Felassan answered. “As for Fen’harel coming here, he could, if the eluvian is left unlocked. I can tell you how to lock it, if you are concerned.”

“I have locked it,” she said quickly. “I discovered that bit by accident. But, if you know your way already, that makes it even easier. You can leave whenever you're ready, but you'd better have cold weather gear and supplies if you're going to travel through the mountains.”

Dhavunlean nodded. “I don't suppose you know a merchant who can be trusted.” They'd traded some of their fur and leather for coin in Halamshiral, though not all, because it felt unwise to carry that much money. Now they suspected they would need every bit.

****************

Merrill took them to an elven merchant in Lowtown who gave them a good price on the rest of their hides and horn, enough to buy thick fur cloaks and gloves, waterproof boots and a sturdy tent. Even the Dalish did not go barefoot in the coldest weather, and there was no reason to take risks in the Anderfels.

By the time they had bought everything they needed, it was nearly nightfall, and Merrill was quick to offer them a place to sleep. Dhavunlean was glad to lay down on the pallet in front of the hearth, even if it was distressingly close to Felassan. Not only were they exhausted, but there was someone they desperately needed to talk to.

Felassan was sitting across from them, his legs crossed and elbows on his knees. The area around them, besides the patch of green grass around their feet, was misty and unformed, which was unusual. He smiled, and it did funny things to their insides, even though they could see a hint of worry in his eyes. “It seems you've arrived in Kirkwall in one piece.” 

“Despite the seasickness, yeah,” they said, smiling back at him. “I’m glad to see you made it here as well.” A vast uunderstatement for the relief and longing filling their chest.

“I did. Kirkwall’s aura of despair is hard to miss, and I've become accustomed to following the trail of your spirit,” he said, and then he sighed, his gaze sharpening. “So your friend has an eluvian.”

“She's been trying to rebuild it ever since Tamlen was killed, but I didn't know she'd finished it,” Dhavunlean replied. “It makes me uneasy, but it's better than traveling through Tevinter.”

“True,” he said, clasping his hands under his chin. “But why are you doing this? Why go to all this trouble, I mean. I know that he, the other me, that is, has told you to leave him behind, more than once. Yet you always insist on continuing.”

His eyes were sharp, and the impact of the question was like a blow. “I promised you I would help,” they muttered lamely. “I can't just leave you.”

It was only half of the truth, and he knew it. “But you aren't even sure I am real. Why would you bind yourself that way? It all seems very convenient, you finding me in the forest, your friend with the eluvian. I've heard the name Hawke before, the Champion of Kirkwall who helped bring about the mage rebellion, but his connection with the Gray Wardens is both interesting and suspect. Are you working for him?”

“What? No- I…” The accusation was as surprising as it was hurtful. But how could he know?

“Then why? Why risk so much for a stranger?” His expression was fierce, but also fearful. He had been betrayed before. He deserved to know the truth, even if they weren't ready, even if the consequences were terrifying.

“Because I love you!” they blurted out, clenching their fists at their side so they couldn't obey the impulse to clap them over their mouth. He recoiled like he'd been struck. “I know it's stupid. I hardly know you, and I’m sure I seem like… a foolish child to your eyes. But I couldn't leave you as you are now, knowing who you could be, if there was even a chance…” They shook their head. “I didn't want to say anything until after… It didn't seem fair.”

His expression was closed, his eyes turbulent. “I apologize if I've hurt you. Perhaps age has made me cynical. I will need some time… to think.” He disappeared, and Dhavunlean woke with tears on their cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t forgotten this! I’ve just been behind and I’m finally catching up, though this chapter took much longer to write than I wanted. I’m not on Tumblr anymore, though so haven’t quite got around to deleting my account, but I am on Twitter and Pillowfort as KitLlwynog.

**Author's Note:**

> This is Tress’s fault. And a few other people who encouraged me to write this despite my ungodly number of WIP’s. I’ve never written Felassan before so I hope it turns it all right.


End file.
